


Matchmaker

by musicofthespheres



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Office AU, Warning: Alcohol Use, barista launch, bulma is a CEO, executive AU, lawyer AU, lawyer chichi, lawyer goku, lawyer krillin, matchmaker, matchmaker 18, princess diaries 2 au, red ribbon matchmaking services, secondary ship: gochi, secondary ship: k18, this is now officially a slowburn, vegeta is foreign royalty, warning: drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres
Summary: She's a CEO, he's the crown prince of a foreign land. She can't find a man who will see her as an equal, and he can't find a wife who's willing to take on the responsibilities that come with being royalty.Enter Red Ribbon Matchmaking Services, a prestigious agency that caters to the rich and famous and helps them find love. There's only one problem: how will two strong-willed people with their own ideas about love ever find happiness in each other?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [LadyCressa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladycressa) and [RockyKelboa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa) for the read-over! You ladies are awesome and always abide my self-indulgent AUs <3
> 
> Please note this fic is rated E for later chapters.

Bulma held her whiskey glass suspended over the tile floor from the tips of her fingers, arm slung over the low armrest of her favorite chair. With her other hand, she rubbed at the pressure points of her temples to try and relieve her headache. Her day had been nothing short of disastrous, and to top it off, she’d been coerced into a date with the most insufferable man on the face of planet earth. 

He was a self-made executive’s son, set to inherit the company from his father during the next fiscal cycle. Despite being raised by a man who’d come from poverty, a fact Bulma knew from eavesdropping on her father’s private conversations when she was younger, the boy was just another hotshot with a business degree and no sense of practicality. He was so far removed from reality due to his father sheltering him from the difficulties of life that Bulma predicted the company’s stock would take a nosedive once he was at its head. He would drive the company into the ground with his grandiose ideas and inadequate understanding of what a budget was. 

Bulma knew first-hand that a simple business degree wasn’t enough to get ahead in this day and age, but she couldn’t get a word in edgewise over dinner to tell him that’s what she thought. She was so frustrated by his lack of self-awareness--treating the waitstaff like garbage as if his father hadn’t struggled to pay the bills as a busboy in his youth-- that she had paid their bill, left him hanging when he wanted to kiss her goodnight, and resolved to become majority shareholder the moment his stock took the inevitable downturn. 

She took another sip of the amber liquid and swirled it in its glass, contemplating her options. It wasn’t the fact that her dating pool was vastly reduced because so many guys found her intimidating, it was that the men who _didn’t_ find her intimidating thought they were better than her. Was it so much to ask that she find someone who would treat her as an intellectual equal, who would recognize her business savvy and glowing track record as her own accomplishments? She was starting to think such a person didn’t exist. 

As the whiskey in her glass drained, her eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. Eventually, she placed the whiskey glass on the floor next to her chair and fell asleep where she sat. When her alarm woke her the next morning, she felt like she hadn’t rested at all.

“What’s on my schedule for today?” Bulma asked her assistant as she strode into the office on a pair of sleek Louboutins and looking none the worse for wear.

“You have three meetings and a coffee date with Chichi, ma’am,” her assistant, a perky young woman nearly a decade Bulma’s junior named Karina, said. “The first meeting is in an hour with a group of Kame partners.” 

Bulma sighed internally and glanced down at her empty mug. “I’m going to need more coffee before I can deal with that. Have Ricardo brew some up for us, why don’t you?” she said, handing it off to Karina to take to one of the in-house baristas she employed. She wouldn’t call herself a coffee snob, per se, but she took certain satisfaction at keeping business away from the large coffeehouse down the road. 

“Right away,” Karina said. “Shall I get his number for you this time?” 

Bulma side-eyed the sly woman. “He’s still in _college_ , Karina. I couldn’t hope to keep up with him.” 

Karina giggled. “Maybe I’ll get his number for _me_ then.” 

“Good luck,” Bulma called after the woman as she flounced away toward the tiny cafe across the floor. 

Once she was inside her office, she closed the door and blew a gust of air upwards, causing her bangs to fly all over the place. She had forgotten all about the Kame meeting today. Had she remembered, she might have chosen something a little more conservative to wear. Not that her skirt and blouse weren’t office-appropriate, but the old lech of a senior partner at Kame would most certainly appreciate everywhere the fabric didn’t cover. Unfortunately, Kame Law Associates was closely connected with Shenron Enterprises, one of Capsule Corp’s biggest allies in the business world, otherwise she’d give old Roshi what for about his actions. 

Minutes later, Karina knocked at her door with a fresh mug of coffee in one hand and a smart blazer draped over her arm. “For your meeting,” she said as she handed off the garment, followed by the coffee. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” she added sweetly, leaving Bulma to marvel at how the hell she’d managed to find an absolute genius of an assistant. 

Bulma tried the blazer on in front of the mirror-wall on one side of her office.It concealed her curves and the button-up front covered the bare hint of cleavage revealed by her blouse. She knew it wouldn’t deter the old codger from making comments, but at least she had control over which parts of her he ogled. 

The meeting passed without much incident. Roshi, the founding partner of the firm, introduced two newly senior associates, and Bulma managed to keep the topic of conversation away from anything remotely unprofessional. She’d count that one among her accomplishments for this week. 

Once that first appointment was down, the rest flew by without Bulma having to put too much effort into them. That’s what her board was for; she just showed up to bring gravitas to each session. 

The last one ran a little overtime, so as Bulma hurriedly rushed down the sidewalk, she texted Chichi an apology. _I’ll be there soon, promise!_

Upon arriving, she was surprised to discover she was the first one there. She checked her phone to find Chichi’s own apology--a deposition had gone late, but she would be there as soon as possible. Bulma shrugged and shook her head with a laugh. They were both so busy that they were rarely able to match up their schedules, and when they did, neither hell nor high water would keep them from their little dates. 

Bulma ordered an Americano. She nearly burnt her tongue on the first sip, but after blowing on it to cool its scalding temperature, she discovered it wasn’t half-bad. Not as good as Ricardo’s, surely, but decent nonetheless. She was contemplating pastry choices when Chichi strode in, clutching the Gucci bag that Bulma had gifted her as congratulations for reaching Junior partner at her firm. She practically screeched to a halt beside her best friend, out of breath. 

“Please don’t tell me you ran all the way here!” Bulma exclaimed, reaching a hand out to steady the off-balance lawyer. “I love you, but it’s _okay_. I know you’re busy!” 

Chichi held up a finger until she caught her breath. “Made it!” she finally gasped. “There was a _really_ hot lawyer on the opposition.” 

Bulma glanced down to find Chichi’s blouse still intact and her skirt on straight. “Glad to see you didn’t take a little supply closet detour on your way here,” she quipped as Chichi had the gall to look outraged. Then she grinned and nudged Chichi’s shoulder with her own. “Get him, Chi!” 

“I can’t. That’d be a total conflict of interest.” 

“It’s not like there are any rules about it. Besides, you could let him think that you’re keeping your personal and professional life separate, but in reality use it to your advantage.” Bulma clenched her fist and donned a wicked grin as she egged her friend to do the very thing that went against her moral grain. 

“I don’t even know if he’s single,” Chichi went on. 

“Was there a wedding band?” 

“No, but-”

“Then he’s fair game,” Bulma said with a shrug. 

Chichi scowled at her. “He could be in a committed long-term relationship for all I know.” 

“And if she hasn’t coerced him into tying the knot yet, then he’s fair game.” 

Chichi crossed her arms defiantly. “Bulma Briefs. You are a _terrible_ person. Did you know that?” 

“You love me. Come on, let me buy you coffee and something to eat.” She escorted her friend by the shoulders to the front counter, where the blonde barista was watching them with an amused expression on her face. 

“Don’t think you can bribe me, woman,” Chichi groused, but paused in her scolding to examine the menu as if she hadn’t spent countless hours in this very cafe throughout her college and professional life. 

“Bulma’s right, you know,” the barista said, leaning across the counter. 

Chichi groaned. “Not you too, Launch!” 

“You need to get laid. It’ll be good for you,” Launch replied. 

Chichi’s face reddened as she glanced around at the other customers, but they were all engrossed in their own conversations or listening to music with earbuds in. “If I promise to talk to him tomorrow, will you both get off my ass?” 

“Scout’s honor,” Bulma said, holding up two fingers in mock salute with a shiteating grin. 

Launch brought their pastries and Chichi’s coffee to the table once they were ready and left them to it. 

Bulma prodded her friend for more details on this handsome lawyer, who just so happened to be a senior partner at Kame Law Associates. “What a coincidence,” she mused. “I just had a meeting with Roshi and some of the senior partners this morning. Was he tall, cute, dark shaggy hair?” 

“Sounds like him,” Chichi said slowly, then shook her head vehemently as she watched a plan hatch in Bulma’s mind. “No. _No_. Absolutely _not_.” 

“Absolutely _yes_ ,” Bulma said, mind already made up. “I’ll just put in a good word for you. That’s all.” 

Chichi put her palms over her face to hide her embarrassment. “Can we change the subject,” she muttered, dragging her fingers down her cheeks and catching Bulma in her dark gaze. “How about you? How’s _your_ love life going, ice queen?” 

“Hmph. I only got that nickname because I wouldn’t go out with the quarterback. He wasn’t even that cute,” Bulma said in her defense, referring back to their college days, when she and Chichi shared a little apartment in the city. “Besides, I was more into the baseball team.” 

“Or they, collectively, were into _you_ ,” Chichi muttered into her coffee. 

Bulma grinned slyly. “Nah, just the captain.” 

Chichi rolled her eyes and took a bite of her croissant. “How _is_ Yamcha, these days?” 

“Busy with his professional career like the rest of us, I imagine. I haven’t talked to him in months.” 

“But you _have_ talked to him.” 

“Because we’re _friends_ , Chi, not because we’re getting back together.” 

“But you guys were so cute,” Chichi said with a pout. “So if not Yamcha, then who have you been seeing these days? Have you been dating at all?” 

Bulma’s lip curled up in disgust. “Unfortunately. Last night some hotshot tried to impress me with his father’s company. I barely got a word in edgewise. I don’t like to be put on a pedestal, but I like at least to be _acknowledged_ , ya know?” 

Chichi hummed in sympathy as Bulma continued. 

“And he had the balls to try to invite himself back to my place, and when I said no to that, he tried to kiss me. Dude could _not_ take a hint.” 

“Do you even want to date right now?” Chichi asked, tone serious. 

It caught Bulma off-guard. “Yeah. I mean, it’s _tedious_ , but I want somebody in my life, romantically speaking. It’s just so hard to find someone who’s not going to be intimidated by my position.” 

“Have you tried a matchmaker?” 

There was an extended silence between them until Bulma burst out laughing, nearly spitting out her mouthful of Americano in the process. 

“What, I’m serious!” Chichi said, reaching out to grab her friend’s hand. “Listen, I know of a place. I was approached recently at a mixer by this woman who runs a very successful agency. She gave me her card.” 

“Maybe _you_ should take her up on her services if you’re so against dating the opposition,” Bulma teased in an effort to deflect the conversation back to Chichi, who wasn’t having it.

“You said you’d drop it until tomorrow,” Chichi warned. She always held Bulma to her word. Most of the time, Bulma was glad for it, but right now she wanted nothing more than to get _off_ that topic. 

She sighed. “Successful agency, huh? How successful could a _matchmaker_ be?” 

“Check her reviews. I’m pretty sure she’s got an ad in the _West City Who’s Who_. Here, I have her card in my wallet…” 

Bulma texted her driver as their date wound down to its conclusion. As she waited by the front door, Chichi gave her a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and made her promise to at least give the agency a shot. Then, leaving Bulma to her thoughts, she wiggled her fingers in goodbye and was out the door. 

Bulma looked down at the well-struck business card in her hand, its heft surprising her. It was red, embossed, and _sparkly,_ with the flecks built into the cardstock itself. A ribbon logo stretched across one side, and on the other, the agency’s name and phone number jumped out at her. _Red Ribbon Matchmaking Services_. She sighed. 

What did she have to lose?


	2. The Coercion of the Crown Prince of All Saiyans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crown prince of the Saiyan Empire is back in West City for one reason, and one reason only: he has to find a mate to be his queen if he wants to be eligible to lead the country. At the suggestion of an old college friend, he tries out the Red Ribbon Matchmaking Service without realizing he's about to get more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks LadyCressa and RockyKelboa for the read-over as always <3

Vegeta scowled at the building in front of him. It looked like a kitschy boutique, not the most-recommended matchmaking service in West City. “ _Must_ I?” he complained to his bodyguards with a sigh. 

Nappa stood stoic, not voicing the opinion that Raditz readily spoke. 

“Well you sure as shit ain’t getting a woman by traditional means,” the younger of the two said with a scoff. “None of the genteel women back home will have you, and West City women think you’ve got a stick up your ass.” 

Nappa side-eyed his colleague and gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Watch your tongue in public, boy,” he warned as Raditz wheezed under the force of the blow. “Just because the prince tolerates your lip in private does not mean he won’t have you flogged for your comments to save face.” 

Vegeta said nothing. He knew that in time, Nappa’s influence would guide Raditz in the right direction. If it didn’t, then he’d give the idiot back to Tarble and be rid of him. There was no need to cause an incident on foreign soil by striking him down himself, and besides, it was unprincelike to sully his hands with the dirty work usually reserved for his honor guard. 

Still, the rage boiling inside of him threatened to bubble over until Nappa placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Your highness, it would be prudent to follow your father’s wishes. His Majesty grows weary and wishes for you to take the throne, but the laws-”

 _The laws can die with the monarchy,_ Vegeta thought. He didn’t _want_ to be king if it meant being subject to the very laws he was supposed to have control over. “I _know_ what the laws say,” he said through gritted teeth. “And the first thing I will do as king is repeal every idiotic law pertaining to kingship and rituals. They’re archaic.” 

“They’re currently the only thing preventing hostile takeover, your highness,” Nappa reminded him, ever the voice of reason. 

He was right. And Vegeta hated him for it. 

He turned his attention back to the agency and motioned angrily for Nappa to open the door, already. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with, then.” 

“I don’t think he understands how long this process can take,” Raditz stage-whispered to Nappa behind a concealing hand. “Should we tell him?” 

Nappa cuffed him upside the head. “Quit speaking, you fool.” 

The brunette receptionist stood behind her desk and greeted Vegeta with a bow, the neckline of her blouse dipping ever-so-slightly to show off her assets. “Your highness, we’ve been expecting you. Right this way, please,” she said, directing him to follow her with a flourish of her hand. 

At least _somebody_ in this godforsaken city had good manners. 

They were led to an elevator and spent the long ride up in near silence, with Raditz’s snickering bitten in the bud by a well timed double glare by both Vegeta and Nappa. 

The receptionist kept a bland but pleasant smile on her face the entire time. 

Once they reached the top floor, she led them down a long corridor to a boardroom whose walls were made of dual-paned glass. Just outside, a blonde woman in a red dress awaited their arrival. 

“Your highness, welcome. I am Eighteen, your consultant and the owner of this agency. Please step inside and we’ll begin the process by getting to know you.” 

“Do you have somewhere more private?” Nappa asked, tapping the glass and quirking his eyebrow. Oftentimes, his security-consciousness was a source of contention between him and Vegeta. Now, however, he was thankful for the intervention. The boardroom resembled a fishbowl, open to any nosy onlookers who happened to pass by. 

Eighteen smiled cryptically. “No one will disturb us. You should know we take our clients’ confidentiality very seriously, so there is nothing to worry about.” 

Nappa stared her down, and she continued smiling as she motioned for them to join her inside. She tapped a control panel on the wall and the glass immediately went opaque. “See? Privacy at the touch of a button.” 

“Stay outside,” Vegeta directed his bodyguards once Nappa was satisfied. “This isn’t anything I need you hearing.” 

Raditz pouted, but Nappa simply nodded dutifully. “As you wish, sire.” 

During the following hour, Eighteen learned more about Vegeta than he took the time to know about himself. 

He hated it, he hated this whole experience, and he hated the smug woman who sat across from him who assumed she knew what kind of qualities he needed in a woman. 

Once the consultation was over, she stood up and bowed respectfully. “Thank you for lending me the afternoon, your highness. Our match-vetting process takes some time, but I will have my people contact yours when we have a potential candidate.

“No,” Vegeta barked. “You will contact me directly.” He handed her a card marked with a simple crest--that of his father’s house--and his private line with no other details. He wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible; there was no need to get anyone else involved. 

Eighteen carefully masked her surprise. “Of course,” she agreed, with a wide, professional smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

One long descent later, Vegeta and his men climbed into the waiting limousine outside. His highness sat in a private compartment and stared through the blacked-out windows, still seething on the inside at how the woman had peeled back his layers so easily. If she could see through his facade, it would be a piece of cake for her to find him some desperate socialite who would do anything for status and fame. 

In fact, he doubted anything substantial would come of all this. It felt like a massive waste of time; he didn’t want a trophy wife, he wanted somebody who was strong enough to be his life partner and the mother of his children. He’d resisted dating during college at the decree of his father, not that any of the poli-sci or STEM major girls were interested him at the time. He’d been even more introverted back then, and had rarely left his room or the library. 

“It is your princely duty to be well-educated,” his father had instructed him in the clipped accent of their home country. “And when you return, you will take a tour of your country to show our people they have nothing to fear from the royal family.” That was a lie, of course. His father was all about displays of power--some subtle, and some so ostentatious Vegeta was certain they were on their way to becoming an Empire again. “And lastly,” King Vegeta had instructed, pulling his own wife roughly to him. “You will find a wife who will bring you many children and produce an heir. The throne will _not_ fall to your weakling brother when you die, do you understand?” 

Vegeta always scoffed when he remembered that veiled threat, amused by the prospect of his father haunting him for his poor decisions from beyond the grave. He was broken from his revery when his phone buzzed three times in quick succession. 

_Kakarot has sent a text_

_Kakarot has sent a text (2)_

_Kakarot has sent a text (3)_

With a sigh, Vegeta unlocked his phone and prepared to roll his eyes at the over-excited messages his old college buddy had sent--obviously waiting to see how his suggestion had turned out.

The first of the three messages contained only the party horn emoji repeated nearly ad infinitum--taking up half of his screen. The second was a barrage of questions about the matchmaking agency (Kakarot had heard many good things about it; his law school friend had been there and found success, so it _had_ to be good, right?). The third message was an invitation to hit up their old haunt together, Senzu Bean. Like in their college days, there was no deference to his royal position. 

Vegeta wanted to say he didn’t have time for this, that his schedule was packed, but unfortunately it was wide open. He expected to be bored out of his skull over the next several weeks while this so-called matchmaker worked her hoodoo miracles on the city’s eligible bachelorettes, so why the hell not?


	3. Livin' la Vida...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma meets with Eighteen, parties her heart out, and finally gets some _great_ news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my ladies LadyCressa and RockyKelboa for giving this a read-over <3 
> 
> And a BIG thank you to all you commenters! I haven't had this much attention on a story all at once since the early days of Black Coffee, and I really appreciate it! Comments make a writer's world go 'round, and it's a Proven Scientific Fact that it helps increase fanfiction output ;)
> 
>  
> 
> **Please note there are references to drug use in this chapter.**

“I’m going to try a matchmaking service,” Bulma announced abruptly. “I’m sure the tabloids would have a field day if they found out, so I wanted you to hear it from me, first.” 

“Congratulations,” Karina said with a knowing smile. “But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Those agencies are known to keep their clients’ confidentiality as top priority. I’m not sure they’d garner much business otherwise.” 

“I need you to clear my afternoon,” Bulma continued, hand on the doorframe as she entered her office, “the matchmaker wasn’t going to fit me in today until I gave her my name.” 

All her life, Bulma had been used to the Briefs name carrying weight wherever she went. It was an extra-sweet victory now when people envisioned _her_ when they thought of Briefs and Capsule Corp, not her father. She tried not to let it go to her head _too_ much, but using her clout as a powerful CEO had an addictive quality to it sometimes. She enjoyed bending people to her will for the pettiest little things. 

Once the door was closed, she pulled her secret bottle of whiskey from her cabinet and poured herself a glass. So what if it was only 9 in the morning? She needed to prepare if she was going to leave her love life in the hands of another, even if that person _was_ a professional. She smirked into the glass. Professional meddler in other people’s affairs, maybe. 

Bulma was to preside over the department heads’ quarterly meeting in an hour, which would last until just after lunch. It was being catered, she was told. Her company’s dollars were obviously hard at work, and she couldn’t even enjoy the spoils: she was on a diet as of today. The first sip of whiskey was already down her throat when she realized that her diet meant no alcohol, either. _Oh well,_ she thought with a shrug. _One glass won’t hurt._

If she was noticeably buzzed during the meeting, nobody dared breathe a word. At any rate, it was a _much_ more enjoyable experience than usual, and when lunch was served, Bulma decided her diet could wait until tomorrow. 

After that pointless waste of 3.5 hours was over, Karina arranged for Bulma’s driver to pick her up at exactly 1:45. He pulled up just as Bulma stepped outside, and she flashed him her award-winning grin. 

“Punctual as always, Manuel,” she purred at him as she clambered into the back seat. With the grin he returned at her bordering on lascivious, Bulma wondered if she really had need for a dating agency at all when she had all of these handsome younger men at her fingertips. That thought gained further traction when she noticed the tiny package on the seat next to her, which she slipped into her pocket for later. 

“I have an appointment on 64th, if you could drop me off there and meet me back in about two hours?” 

“My pleasure, Ms. Briefs,” Manuel replied, and with a wink they were off. 

Bulma could feel her heart speeding up; her palms grew clammy, and her chest shuddered when she attempted to take in a deep, calming breath. _Calm down, Briefs,_ she attempted to pep-talk herself. _It’s not like you’re meeting your soulmate today. It’s just an appointment._ She rubbed her hands against the soft fabric of the seat on either side of her hips, drying them off and soothing her nerves. 

When they finally arrived at the designated drop-off, Bulma had almost forgotten that she still had another block and a half to walk. She didn’t want Manuel--or anyone else for that matter--watching her walk into the agency. Even if it _was_ designed to blend in with its surroundings, Bulma didn’t want to take chances. 

The whole affair was mostly painless. The consultant, a blonde woman in a red dress named Eighteen, had afforded her every courtesy--from a bowl of her favorite fruit (information easily discovered via Bulma’s interview on the Tonight Show not that long ago) to the quiet chords of _Comfortably Numb_ playing over hidden speakers, none of the minutiae of the encounter had been left up to chance. 

As the consultation drew to a close, Eighteen stood and offered her hand to Bulma for a firm shake. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Briefs. I’ll have my people contact your people-” she paused, “-unless you’d like me to contact you directly?” 

After Bulma gave Eighteen her private number, the matchmaker personally escorted her back to the ground floor. She waved at her receptionist, who procured a cellophane-wrapped gift basket seemingly out of thin air. “To remember us by until we’re in touch,” Eighteen said as she handed it magnanimously to her. 

Bulma shifted the weight of the basket from arm to arm as she made her way to the designated pick-up spot. If she was lucky, she’d make it back to Capsule Corp in time to get in a hit before she had to prepare for tonight’s soirée. Manuel pulled up in the Rolls just as she rounded the corner and shot her another cocky grin. 

“Where to now, Ms. Briefs?” he asked, his accent gently lilting as he slung his arm around the passenger side headrest to look at her through his dark, half-lidded chocolate eyes. 

She bit her lip in response. “Back to CC, Manuel. I’m afraid I don’t have time to _share_ before tonight.” 

He pouted at her gentle rebuttal, but professionally turned his attention back to the job at hand. “As you wish.” 

She felt bad, of course. It was their custom to meet together after work either in her office or one of the empty boardrooms and do a line or two. She always included a bonus on his paycheck that more than covered the cost, and he got to sample the goods. Win/win. 

“You’re not seeing someone _else_ , are you?” Manuel asked, trying to sound casual as he pulled up to the enormous skyscraper that housed every department of Bulma’s company. 

Bulma placed a reassuring hand on his generous bicep. “I’m not, I promise. But I have schmoozing to do tonight.” 

Manuel held her in his gaze for a beat longer before nodding and turning away. “Alright, Ms. Briefs. You have a nice night and don’t go _too_ loco, okay?” 

“No promises.” 

\---

She went a little loco. 

In addition to the bump in her office, the party host had set out tiny antique porcelain bowls full of it, replete with tiny spoons and stacks of collectors baseball cards. Bulma chose the one with her favourite player, Yamcha Wolfe, chuckling at the irony as she chopped a line. 

She and Yamcha had been a thing once upon a time in their wild and crazy youths--well, _her_ wild and crazy youth, since he’d been so focused on sports and other extracurriculars. He’d been so _terrified_ of the repercussions of being arrested for possession or underage drinking that he’d put a damper on many a scandalous evening, much to Bulma’s annoyance. At least he’d been a good lay--and at the very least not a bad one. 

As the white powder tickled at her nostrils, Bulma absently wondered if he was happy with his wife, daughter, and lucrative baseball career. 

Later that evening, she found herself out on the patio with the heir of Shenron Enterprises, Piccolo Green. He was a hulk of a man (no pun intended), towering a good foot and a quarter over Bulma’s not-unreasonable stature. “Care for a toke?” she asked, waving her joint at him. 

“I don’t smoke,” Piccolo intoned, staring out into the dark countryside. “And neither should you, with all the coke you’ve been doing.” 

“Puh-lease,” Bulma said. “It’s not like I’m going inside to do more. I know when I’ve had enough.” 

Piccolo shrugged. “If you say so.” 

Bulma sidled up to him along the concrete railing. “So when are you going to let me buy Shenron, huh?” 

He remained silent with not so much as an eye roll to tip Bulma off to his true feelings on the matter. He’d made them clear in the past, and that was enough. 

They were to remain separate companies.

Bulma knew that she had no hopes of taking them down from the inside as she had with so many other companies, so she was happy to maintain the status quo for now. 

She turned to face the party again, back against the cold rail. “This is boring,” she muttered, pushing herself off to stand upright. “I’m going back inside. Can I bring you a drink?” 

Piccolo simply shook his head no, and with that, she left him to brood in silence. 

The next morning found her shoeless and hungover in a bed next to… someone. Their hair was splayed everywhere and they were facedown on their pillow, and Bulma didn’t have the stomach to check who she’d fallen into bed with the night before. 

Thank the devil it was Saturday. 

Her phone told her it was 11am, no surprise there, and she had missed her morning workout, a text from Chichi, and a missed call from Eighteen. As she fought off a wave of nausea and flopped back onto her pillow, that last notification nagged at her delirious mind. 

When she woke up again at 1:45 still dehydrated as fuck and now alone in bed, Bulma’s eyes shot open with the realization that, _holy shit, Eighteen had called._

After downing a glass of stale cucumber water and popping two ibuprofen for her headache, she planted her feet on the ground next to the bed and dialled the agency’s number. 

_Red Ribbon Matchmaking services, how may I help you?_ the chirpy, clipped voice of the receptionist answered. 

“It’s Bulma. Connect me to Eighteen.” 

\---

“Chichi, you are _not_ gonna believe this,” Bulma said, phone to her ear as she wriggled and hopped around the bedroom, trying to get her shoes back on. 

_You know I will believe everything you tell me, Bulma Briefs,_ came Chichi’s mildly exasperated but amused voice on the other end. 

“Red Ribbon called me back. It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet!” 

_So you actually went, huh?_

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I was curious, okay?” 

_Well, what did she say?_

“Thaaaat she recently met with a _very_ suitable match for me and that she’s setting up a date with his approval for next week.” 

Bulma held the receiver away from her ear as the jubilant sounds of Chichi’s celebration rang out, threatening to split her eardrums. 

_I can’t believe there’s a man out there who would be a match for you._

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bulma huffed, indignant. 

_I mean, you’re incredible and sophisticated, but you hate all the men on your level. Hopefully this turns out!_

Bulma stared in the mirror at her bedraggled, raccoon-eyed appearance. Yep, she was sophisticated alright. Her lips quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. Only one more week until she met the man of her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's the song "Comfortably Numb" that was playing during Bulma's appointment with Eighteen!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpqjEnRU6uM) RockyKelboa and I figured this AU Bulma would be a classic rock kinda gal. 
> 
> And once again, your comments are ALWAYS appreciated. <3


	4. This Season on The Bachelorette...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Saiyan trio try to figure out who Vegeta's date might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to RockyKelboa and LadyCressa for beta-reading as always. You ladies do wonders for my motivation <3
> 
> I also think I forgot to thank the [Vegebulocracy discord server](https://discord.gg/YmBQcqr) for their assistance in my cocaine research last chapter. Y'all are amazing and I'm so thrilled to be part of such an engaged group of vegebul fans <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the song Raditz is singing in the first paragraph!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IRjl3SWC2U)

“Swee-eee-eeet, West City woman!” Raditz sang horridly off-key to the tune of The Stampeders’ _Sweet City Woman_ before he downed another shot. “Ugh, the liquor here is so _weird_ ,” he muttered and stared at the remnants of the brown liquid in his shot glass before licking the rim with his overly long tongue. He lingered and made eye contact with Vegeta, who glared at him. “What? I’m _practicing._ ” 

“You’re gross, is what you are,” Vegeta said, turning his attention back to the choice of alcohol before him. He almost wished they had gone out to one of West City’s high-end lounges instead of staying in--the penthouse suite was beginning to feel cramped. 

“Prude,” Raditz shot back, still trying to reach the last droplets. 

“Mix me something,” Vegeta muttered, sweeping the bottles toward Nappa as he rested his head on his crossed arms. “Strong enough to tune him out, if you can.” 

“That concoction might kill you,” Nappa chuckled. 

“If that’s the way it has to be, then so be it,” Vegeta mumbled through the fabric of his shirt. “I knew I shouldn’t have told that dunce I have a date tomorrow night.” 

“Hey, this _dunce_ is just happy you’re finally gettin’ laid!” Raditz hollered way too loud for someone so close. “Maybe it’ll loosen you up a bit.” 

Both of Vegeta’s fists clenched and he tilted his head to stare at Nappa with one eye. “Hurry. Up.” 

The chief of his bodyguard was nothing if not obedient, and within mere seconds Vegeta found himself glass in hand, filled nearly to the brim with the aforementioned, potentially lethal mixture--his first in months. 

“Might wanna watch that,” Nappa suggested quietly as Vegeta took the first sip and nearly sputtered. “It’ll knock you out flat if you’re not careful.” 

“High-octane,” Vegeta murmured, mostly to himself, before taking another sip. He was going to need all the liquid courage he could get. He didn’t even know _who_ his date was with, never mind what kind of person she was. 

Eighteen’s nonsensical questions came to mind: if you were to find yourself backed into a corner, what would you do? How do you deal with loss? What would go through your mind while facing your deepest fear?

What kind of questions were those? How were they supposed to help find him a potential mate? 

It all sounded like pseudoscience mumbo jumbo to him. 

He took another sip of his drink. As the familiar burn subsided, he understood what Raditz meant about the flavor. He’d grown used to drinking while in college, but after returning home and resuming his duties as crown prince, he rarely had the time to imbibe. What little he did drink there had tasted like home, and coming back to West City after a long time away continued to shock his system in new ways. 

His eyes tracked Nappa as he went to sit beside his comrade with two shots in each hand. 

“Hey, wanna look up West City’s most eligible bachelorettes and take bets on which one Vegeta got set up with?” Raditz suggested, prodding Nappa in the arm. “It’ll be fuuu-uuun,” he added. 

Nappa spared a glance back at the prince, who dismissively waved his hand in his classic, _I don’t care, do whatever the fuck you want_ motion. 

Vegeta wouldn’t admit it, but he too was interested in scoping out his potential date. If anything, he’d have a list to consult if things didn’t quite work out as planned. He wondered what his father would think, resorting to a matchmaking agency of all things. For all the king knew, Vegeta was spending his time in West City schmoozing in high society, relying on Nappa to ward off any undesirable women attempting to make passes at his son. He sneered into his glass. He shared no such delusions of grandeur. 

“Look at the rack on _her_!” Raditz shouted, waving his phone in the air for Vegeta to see. Impatient with Vegeta’s lack of interest, he hopped to his feet and sauntered over, draping one arm far too casually around Vegeta’s shoulders and pressing the phone up to his face. “See? Hot,” he said. 

Vegeta did admit that the woman on the screen was attractive. However, her profile stated she owned a modelling agency, and he promptly lost all interest. “Next,” he muttered. 

“Gimme a sec,” Raditz said, pulling his phone back and concentrating as he typed. 

Vegeta moved out of his bodyguard’s radius of contact to avoid getting so up close and personal again. 

“Here’s another one!” Raditz handed the phone to Vegeta--miraculously taking the hint this time. “She’s a looker. And look, she does charity work for orphans! Totally a bonus.” 

Vegeta swiped through the photos, noticing that another woman was with her in nearly every photo--the same one, at that. “Yeah, she’s not on the market,” he muttered, handing the phone back. “Try again.” 

Raditz stared down at the screen in confusion before realization dawned on him. “Right, well then. Next…” he mumbled as he furrowed his brow. “Aha!” he said not a moment later. “How about her? She’s not super high-profile, she’s cute, _and_ she’s got hips for daaays.” 

“And she’s a lawyer,” Vegeta deadpanned, pushing Raditz’s arm out of his face yet again. “Absolutely no lawyers.” He took another drink as memories of one of his few college parties flooded back to his mind. Those law students were _crazy_. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Raditz goaded him, but was already on the lookout for another woman to set his prince up with. 

“Then it’s a good thing I am no beggar,” Vegeta replied haughtily, making his way to join Nappa on the sectional as a news story came on. 

_“Next week’s gala at the West City Gallery of Fine Arts will not only welcome such high-profile artists as notable painter and animal conservationist Seventeen, but many of the city’s biggest industry executives will be present as well. The guest list is rumored to include Kami Green of Shenron Enterprises, Roshi Masters of Kame Law Associates, and Bulma Briefs, the new CEO of Capsule Corp, who took her father’s place in the position earlier this year. The event will raise funds for programs stimulating interest in art and culture, including free classes for West City youth. Tenkaichi News will be live on location next week.”_

“CEO of Capsule Corp, huh?” Raditz said, leaning over the back of the couch. “More like Chief Eligible Bachelorette. Look, she’s on the list.” He dangled the phone in front of Vegeta, who was treated to a view of blue hair, too much cleavage, and a smile that hid more secrets than the Saiyan minister of defense. 

“She looks scary,” Nappa said, leaning in to take a look. “I like her.” 

“The future Saiyan queen will need to show a level of… decorum,” Vegeta growled. He didn’t like the lascivious quality of her gaze or her revealing clothing. 

Well. 

_Parts_ of him liked those things, but not the parts that would soon be ruling a country. 

\---

Nappa tightened Vegeta’s tie and checked his hair before having his hand swatted away. “I can do that myself,” the ornery prince growled. “You’re making this a bigger fuss than it needs to be. Quit it.” 

“The sooner you find a woman, the better,” Nappa commented mildly. “I’m just making sure we don’t prolong the search.” 

“He’s saying you can’t take care of yourself!” Raditz hollered across the room. 

“Be quiet, Raditz,” Nappa and Vegeta replied in tandem. 

Nappa gripped Vegeta by the shoulders like he was about to dispense some fatherly advice. “Try not to scare her off, alright? Remember the coaching Eighteen gave you.” 

Averting his gaze, Vegeta mumbled grumpy acquiescence and allowed Nappa to walk him to the waiting car. 

“You don’t have to come with me.” He stood and faced his bodyguard, pulling himself up to his full (but still meager) height against the veritable giant before him. “There won’t be any danger.” 

Nappa shook his head. “The King would have my scalp if he knew I left you unattended. I will try not to intrude, my liege.” 

When Vegeta saw his date, he almost wished that Nappa hadn’t kept his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments will forever and always be my main source of adlkjfa;sd, and I always appreciate hearing what you have to think of each chapter. <3


	5. The Lady Wants What She Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eagerly-anticipated first date is upon us. Things go about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to LadyCressa and RockyKelboa for beta-reading <3 
> 
> And to those who have commented on every chapter (or just once or twice), you guys keep me going! I adore receiving emails with your thoughts, it always brightens up my day. :)

Bulma liked the way her date’s eyes bugged out of his head when he saw her and all the effort she’d put into her appearance. She liked that he choked on the martini that he’d ordered without her, and that he couldn’t seem to find his voice by the time she reached his table. She did _not_ like the litany of emotions that crossed his face as he attempted to gain control of himself.

She cocked her hip out as she stood there, waiting for him to stand and acknowledge her presence properly. 

He nearly upended his glass in his rush to stand up, but Bulma decided to forgive him and demurely offered her hand instead. “Bulma,” she said, rouge-tinted lips quirking up in an amused smirk. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Vegeta,” her date said, lips ghosting over her skin as he gazed up at her with eyes as black as the night. “And the pleasure is all mine.” 

_Was it,_ though? His expression had ranged from fear, anger, _disgust_... all before she’d opened her mouth. How _rude._

Unlike him, she kept her feelings to herself. She sat, pointedly reaching for the drink menu as Vegeta recovered his dignity. “How is your drink?” she asked, eyes indicated his martini. 

“Satisfactory.” 

He said nothing further, instead burying his stormy face in the menu before glancing over her shoulder. His eyebrows furrowed and she fought the urge to turn and look as well, but was pleasantly surprised (as much as anything could be pleasant in this given situation) when he took a deep breath and put the menu down to look at her. He took another drink and fixed her in his dark gaze. “I recognize you. You’re the CEO of Capsule Corp.” 

Here we go. “The one and only,” Bulma said with a faux-modest shrug. She stared right back at him; if he thought he could intimidate her, he was wrong. 

They were interrupted by the waiter, who approached their table with his hands behind his back. “Ms. Briefs, welcome. Would you like your usual today?” 

“Let’s make it a Long Island today, Francois,” Bulma said, smiling up at him. “I could use something with a little more oomph.” 

“Very good,” Francois said, bowing and disappearing from whence he came. 

Bulma looked back at her date and noticed his mild confusion. “This establishment happens to be a favorite of mine,” she said. 

“You know the waitstaff by name?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bulma challenged. By the look on his face, it was obvious to her that Vegeta wasn’t used to being friendly to _the help._ Many of her peers were the same way, but as conceited as she might be, at least she recognized that staff are human, too. Time to deal a well-earned blow to his ego. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t recognize _you_ ,” she said with a little pout. “Tell me about yourself?” 

Her words did not have the intended effect. Expression unchanging, he simply shrugged and said, “I prefer to keep out of the spotlight. Life is easier that way.” 

“It’s my business to know who’s who,” Bulma went on, unabated as her eyes roamed over him. “You’re obviously not from West City.” The gears turned in her head as she deduced what she could about him from the few words he’d spoken, from what he wore, how he carried himself. “That symbol on your watch, is it a family crest?” 

Vegeta’s gaze flicked to the accessory on his wrist, the beautiful gold and white face glinting in the mood lighting of the restaurant. He sat up a little straighter--with pride, Bulma noted--but his smile was only superficial. “Yes. This was crafted by the finest watchmaker in the world.” 

“Indeed?” Bulma asked, feigning interest with raised eyebrows as she fiddled with her table setting. “And what family does it represent?” 

The stormy expression returned. “The Saiyan royal family.” He let that statement hang in the air between them, as if challenging her to back down at his obvious attempt to regain (or gain at all, since she was certain he never had it in the first place) the upper hand. 

Bulma had to admit that she hadn’t seen that one coming. What was a member of a royal family doing on a matchmade date in West City? 

“Prince Vegeta, at your service,” Vegeta said as his eyes swept over her, a triumphant and haughty grin finally breaking the stone mask of his face, as if he could read her mind. Who knows, maybe he could: “Tell me, Ms. Briefs, why did _you_ solicit the services of a matchmaker, when somebody with your... _proclivity_ for showing off that much skin and wealth should have no shortage of suitors?” 

Bulma gaped. Her attire was perfectly suitable for a first date, and she was hardly flaunting her million-dollar diamonds. “Excuse me?” 

With a tilt of his head that in no way spoke of apology, Vegeta continued: “Pardon my bluntness, but it is in my interests to know why someone like you has not already found a reputable match among the many eligible bachelors in this city.” 

Bulma clenched the cloth napkin in her hand and narrowed her eyes, outrage warring with her out-of-practice restraint. “One might find no shortage of _gold-diggers_ when one is from a family like mine.” 

_Oh_ , how she bit her tongue just then--she would give this pretentious oaf no reason to call _her_ manners boorish, even if they would be an accurate reflection of his own. “And it begs the question of why your highness has sought the same services. Surely the Saiyan royal family would much prefer a political marriage, no?” 

Vegeta frowned. “My reasons are my own. I am free to marry whomever I wish.” 

Bulma couldn’t help the jab that slipped out. “You must be a minor prince, then,” she said with all the nonchalance she could muster, grabbing a menu and hiding her crumbling demeanor behind its parchment pages. She should have left by now, but she was intrigued by the sheer insolence of his words. 

The prince played his cards close to his chest. His nostrils briefly flared at her accusation, but he mirrored her actions and picked up the menu again. 

Well, this was a shit start to a date. What had she been expecting? Prince _Charming_ to come sweep her off her feet? Red Ribbon certainly got the prince part correct, but the charm was a far cry from what she had hoped for. 

If there was any chance to turn this date around, she wasn’t leaving it up to Arrogant McHaughtypants over there. Time for the ever-dreaded small talk. “Have you ever eaten here before?” 

“No.” 

Alright, then. She cleared her throat to bring his attention back to her. “Okay… so what brings you to West City, of all places?” 

“A recommendation.” 

“You’ve never dated before, have you?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her words. His lack of responsiveness told her everything she needed to know about him. 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Please, Vegeta, give me something to work with!” Bulma all but shouted, fighting to keep her voice low enough so as not to attract the attention of the other patrons. “You’re obviously on this date for a reason, so could you at least act like you’re trying?” 

Vegeta put down his menu on the table and clasped his hands. “I’m looking for a compatible partner who will be able to withstand the pressures of everyday Saiyan society, who will appear and _act_ presentable in the king’s court, and who will be fit to continue the family line. I was assured that West City had plenty of potential, but if you’re indicative of what else I have to look forward to in my search, then I shall abandon it and look elsewhere.” 

“There are plenty of fine women in this city,” Bulma argued, “but none of them are going to want to live the rest of their life with an arrogant prince who only sees them as an accessory to further his own goals.” 

“You clearly know nothing of Saiyan society,” Vegeta replied with a snort. “Our women are strong and capable and can hold their own against the most elite warriors in our force.” 

“Maybe not, but if they’re so _capable_ then why aren’t you back home choosing a wife from among your own people?” 

That hit a nerve. Vegeta’s lip curled into a sneer, and he turned his attention back to the menu. 

After several long, uncomfortable moments of silence, Francois returned with her drink and took their order. 

Bulma studied the drink menu until their food arrived. Grateful for something legitimate to hold her attention, she dug in with gusto and tried to forget what a waste of an evening this had turned out to be. 

As always, all three courses were superb. She only wished the company were better, but maybe she wasn’t going to call this evening a total loss just yet. 

“Would you care to go for a walk after dinner?” Bulma asked, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her intentions were simple: bring him back to her apartment, give him a lesson in treating a woman right, and kick him to the curb to find someone else to be his perfectly-behaved wife. 

The prince looked surprised that she had offered; surely he could tell that she loathed him with every cell of her body. “Where do you propose we go?” he asked. Bulma couldn’t tell from his tone if he was amenable or not; all she knew was that she wanted to get him alone somewhere and make her lips the reason for his silence. 

“There’s a park a few blocks away.” It was the one directly centered between the restaurant and her place. The natural progression of events would come easy: she would get him riled up, challenge him, and have her way with him at her place. She would come out on top (and hopefully _come_ on top) and be the indomitable winner of this encounter. Not that everything in life had to be a competition, it was just more fun that way. 

Vegeta glanced over her shoulder again before his eyes flicked back to hers. “Fine.” He snapped his fingers at the passing waiter, who set down his tray and immediately fetched their check. 

As they left, the hair on the back of Bulma’s neck prickled. They walked side-by-side, hands tucked into their respective coat pockets. Bulma was glad she had thought to wear a scarf--the unforgiving January night air threatened to sap all the warmth from her body. She glanced over at her reluctant companion; Vegeta seemed none the worse for wear despite leaving his face and neck exposed to the cold. “Aren’t you freezing?” she asked, wondering why she was concerned for his welfare when he clearly wasn’t giving her a second thought. 

“No. The Saiyan Empire is much colder than this.” He glanced over at her, that same stone-cold expression hardening his features. “You have no meat on your bones. No wonder you’re shivering.” 

Another chill coursed through her, and this time it wasn’t from the cold. It felt like they were being watched. “Vegeta,” she murmured, surreptitiously glancing behind them. “I think someone-”

“Pay Nappa no heed,” the prince interrupted her, anticipating her concern. “He’s the chief of my bodyguard.” 

“Has he been there the whole time?” 

“He was at the restaurant, too. I’m surprised you never noticed him, Ms. Briefs. You ought to be more aware of your surroundings if you’re out in public alone.” 

Bulma was _plenty_ aware, thank you. She’d noticed they were being followed, hadn’t she? She let out a puff of air through her nose, the vapor dissipating into the night as she walked through it. “I do just fine, thank you. I’m still alive, aren’t I?” 

“Perhaps by sheer luck.” 

They walked in silence for a while longer until the streetlamps no longer illuminated their path. Bulma led him to a walkway that bordered the river where only the moon’s light reached, ready to enact the next part of her plan. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” Bulma sighed as she gazed out over the water. It was his fault entirely, of course. “But I want to know more about you.” 

“There is nothing to know,” Vegeta snapped. “I’m a very private person, and you will respect that.” 

“Oh, I will, will I?” Bulma replied, all the vinegar returning to her voice. If her usual way of riling men up wasn’t going to work on him, she would adapt. It was what she was good at. “Nothing remains hidden from me for long,” she promised. “I have my ways.” 

“You West City women are very nosy. I see I will not have a moment’s peace around you.” 

Bulma bit her lip and leaned in. “That’s what makes us so much fun,” she purred. She grinned inwardly when he all but leapt back from her, as if her very presence in his personal bubble was going to cause him bodily harm. “Come now, Prince Vegeta. Have you ever been with a western woman?” 

He scowled at her. So the answer was no, then. 

“You’re very attractive, did you know that? I’m sure you’d have no trouble picking any woman you wanted for a good lay.” 

Still no response. Oh, so he was going to play silent treatment with her, was he? 

“Lucky for you, you’ve spent this evening with the cream of the crop. Let’s find somewhere quiet and I’ll show you what a _real_ woman can do for you, hm?” 

She couldn’t help but noticing his fist tightening on the railing. She leaned in further still to let her breath ghost against his ear, “Come now, who has to know?” 

\---

Bulma filled up her glass of whiskey, noting that she would have to call a repairman to fix her front door first thing in the morning. Who knew she had enough rage inside of her to tear the thing off its hinges? 

She downed a long gulp, paying no heed to the burning liquid as it poured down her throat and warmed her belly. 

How dare he? 

How. Dare. He? 

Prince or no, the asshole had summarily rejected her and left her to walk home by herself. He even had the fucking audacity to look _disgusted_ at her proposal. Her! Bulma Fuckin’ Briefs! TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year and Nobel Laureate!

She chased the first swallow of whiskey with the rest of it before throwing the glass against the wall, shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces. She’d known him for less than three hours and he’d gotten under her skin. That was _not_ how this was supposed to play out!

Fuck him. FUCK him. 

Fuck Eighteen for thinking he would be a good match. 

Fuck Chichi for recommending Red Ribbon in the first place.

Fuck everything. 

None of this had gone according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment, you lovely reader you ;)


	6. Eat or Be Eaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vegeta can't process his emotions and Raditz takes the brunt of his rage, as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you RockyKelboa for reading over this chapter and offering some very useful suggestions! 
> 
> Also, hi, I'm back! I had this chapter written before I left for my trip and intended to edit and post it, but unfortunately that didn't happen. So here it is now! Sorry for the delay ^^;

“Your highness?” Nappa asked quietly. “Are you alright? What happened?” 

Vegeta gripped the railing with both hands, leaning over and breathing heavily. The infernal women had just disappeared from sight, stomping off in an unseemly fashion so typical of her kind. “Let’s go home,” he growled, feeling chilled to the core--and not from the temperature. 

On the drive back, he refused to make eye contact with his bodyguard, electing instead to stare out the window the whole way as he stewed. “This was a mistake,” he said finally as they pulled up to the hotel where they were staying while in the city. “I should never have taken Kakarot’s advice. There has to be a better way to find a suitable wife.” 

Flashes of her brilliant blue eyes invaded his mind as they ascended to the penthouse suite in silence. She was even more beautiful in person than she had been on TV, but she was every bit a bad egg as he had expected from her photograph. Vegeta had never believed in that old adage, “Never judge a book by its cover.” He was an impeccable judge of character, and his intuition had served him right yet again. 

But damn her, she set his blood boiling, and though he couldn’t explain why, as he climbed into bed for the night (in blissful silence, thanks to Nappa’s quick action to shut Raditz up and put him on door duty), every part of him yearned to be near her again. 

Though it was nearing 3am, Vegeta still couldn’t sleep. He rolled over and picked up his phone off the nightstand, opening the internet browser and searching for her name. 

It was late the next morning when he finally awoke to gentle knocking on his door. “Vegeta? It’s noon. Are you going to come eat?” 

Vegeta’s phone was still in his left hand when he opened his eyes. His right hand was down his pants. “Bring it in,” he mumbled as he removed his hand and rolled over to put his face into the pillow. “I don’t feel good.” 

Nappa nudged the door open with his foot and brought in a tray with assorted goodies on it. He rolled Vegeta onto his back and assessed the situation in the blink of an eye. “Don’t feel good, my ass,” he chastised. “How late did you stay up?” 

“How can you tell?” Vegeta mumbled in reply, though he knew he must look awful. The scent of deep fried goodness tantalized his senses, and he opened his eyes to see Nappa placing the tray on his bedside table. 

“Look in a mirror.” 

Vegeta complied and was nearly frightened out of skin by the illusion of gaunt cheekbones in the shitty lighting and the enormous dark circles under his eyes. 

“Listen, Vegeta, I’m gonna tell it to you straight. You can’t let this woman get into your head. She’s smart, manipulative, and she _will_ -” Nappa grabbed a deep-fried shrimp and bit into it to make his next point- “eat you for breakfast if you give her the chance. You have to outsmart her. Get into _her_ head without her realizing it.” 

“I already have,” Vegeta muttered quietly as he took a spring roll from the Chinese leftovers. “I’m fairly certain she wanted to murder me last night after I rejected her.” 

Nappa raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s used to having her own way. Spoiled brat, everything in life handed to her on a platter, I’ve seen the type a thousand times. That woman thought she could seduce me.” Vegeta felt suddenly uncomfortable beneath Nappa’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“Sounds familiar. But I think you need to reassess her grip on you.” 

“I’m not in her grip,” Vegeta retorted. 

“Give me your phone,” the bodyguard said, holding his hand out and making grabbing motions for the device in Vegeta’s hand. “I want to look at your search history.” 

“Absolutely not,” Vegeta said, managing to look affronted while tucking the device under his hip for safekeeping. 

A tiny quirk of the other man’s lips accompanied the lifted brow; a familiar sparkle shone in his eyes as he waited for Vegeta to come to some conclusion that was currently eluding him. 

“What is it?” 

“Your highness,” Nappa said, sitting on the bed beside his charge and clapping him on the back. “Be careful. You’re dealing with a woman who would topple kings.” 

\---

Vegeta stormed the gates of the Red Ribbon Matchmaking agency that very afternoon. “Where is that infernal woman?” he shouted, voice still hoarse from lack of sleep and hydration. “I need to speak with her immediately.” 

The front desk girl jumped to her feet, face immediately turning beet red out of fear, embarrassment, who knows what else- “Your highness!” she exclaimed, moving bodily in front of him to block his path to the elevator. “Eighteen is in a meeting. I will page her as soon as she’s available. Sir- you can’t go up there!” 

Vegeta nearly shoved her aside from the elevator before Nappa intervened with a stern shake of his head. 

After long moments of letting the smoke dissipate from his ears, Vegeta calmed down enough to speak at a more reasonable volume: “It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do. I need answers.” He looked down his nose at the frightened, shivering woman before narrowing his eyes and leaning in menacingly. “Or I will withdraw my patronage from this institution and suggest many of my friends do the same.” 

-Which was a total lie. 

Vegeta didn’t _have_ friends. 

The receptionist stood up straighter and tried to regain her composure. “Yes, your highness. And you will have your answers. As soon as Eighteen is out of her meeting.” She looked at the sleek, tiny watch on her wrist: “That’ll be only ten more minutes.” 

“Vegeta,” Nappa started, obviously about to talk some sense into him. 

Vegeta simply held up his hand to halt the bodyguard’s words. “Then I’ll wait.” 

The waiting room was tactfully hidden from the view of any nosy passersby, but he still chose a seat which directly faced the front desk. With every passing second of the next ten minutes, the beads of sweat on the receptionist’s forehead grew larger under his gaze. He stared at her, almost unblinking, watching every movement with keen interest as she pretended to do her work. Finally, the intercom buzzed and Vegeta watched the waifish woman deflate with relief. 

“Your highness,” she called. “Eighteen is on her way down.” 

“Remember you’re in public,” Nappa murmured almost imperceptibly in his ear as he watched the light behind the elevator numbers descend through the floors. “Appearances are everything.” 

Vegeta knew that. He wasn’t about to assault the woman, for god’s sake; she was just going to receive a piece of his mind whether she wanted to or not. But as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, the tirade itching to bubble forth out of his mouth stopped short on his tongue as he locked eyes with the true source of his rage. 

“Shit,” Nappa muttered a beat later when he realized. 

Eighteen’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her eyes flickered over to the blue-haired seductress next to her, mouth already parting for damage control. Too late. Bulma had already seen him. 

And right through him. 

Her gaze swept the room like it was empty before she turned to Eighteen again. “Thank you for your time and understanding,” she said--coldly--before showing herself out. 

“Um,” the receptionist gulped. “Ma’am, his royal highness Prince Ve-”

“I see him,” Eighteen replied, fixing him in her steely gaze. She was not the kind to capitulate or be intimidated. Vegeta liked that. “Please, your highness. Right this way. But let’s make it brief, I have other clients to attend to once you’ve aired your grievance with me.” 

She’d been expecting him. 

\---

“Earth to Vegeta,” Raditz said, waving his hand in front of the prince’s face. 

Vegeta saw, of course, but the power of his dissociation was stronger than the urge to snap back to reality and wallop the idiot upside the head. His eyes remained unfocused, staring into the middle distance at nothing as he tried to compute what had happened. 

That blue-haired wench had gotten right under his skin and into his head, just like Nappa warned. He could still smell the lingering scent of her perfume, and if he closed his eyes for more than a blink, visions of her flowing blue tresses and blood red lips filled his mind. She was powerful, but not in a way he knew power. 

Eighteen had endured his abuse with a straight face. He had paced around the room gesticulating, working himself into a mad frenzy, and the the tide of his bitterness only receded (and only slightly) when she offered him a retry at no extra charge. Not that money meant anything to him, but the fact that she thought there might still be hope after that disaster had given him pause. 

She took a page out of Nappa’s book and spoke in the lowest voice she could manage, explaining entirely apologetically that the formula does not always produce perfect results and that there would be logic in seeing this process through to its happy finale. And because Nappa was right there in the room with them this time, Vegeta didn’t have a choice but to give it another chance, even if he was still seething with rage at how poorly the first time had gone.

As the image of that damned woman floated uninvited into his mind yet again, he hoped that his next match would be enough to quell these improper feelings that had begun rising at the very base of his desires. 

The image turned into a silent video; the point of view shifted to third person. He saw himself from the back, his coat wrapped tightly against his body like a protective shield. And he saw her, the woman--Bulma--leaning toward him, that lascivious smile gracing her perfectly formed lips that drove his mind to obscenity, closer, closer-

Until she pulled apart her jacket to reveal, not the flirty cocktail dress she had been wearing, but a smooth expanse of skin that rose with the swell of her breasts. Vegeta tried resisting the urge for his gaze to travel ever downward, lapping up the sight of her bared _only for him_. 

“Hey, your highness, my eyes are up here,” a voice that didn’t sound like hers chuckled. It turned dark and deep, and Vegeta’s eyes snapped back to what used to be her face but was now a gaping maw, row upon row of teeth. He was trapped where he stood, powerless against the vicious creature as it closed the gap between them and devoured him whole. 

“Holy _shit_ , Vegeta!” Raditz yelled, holding an empty glass above his head as he surveyed the liquid stains down the front of his shirt. “What was _that_ for? Why’d you hit me?” 

“Learn your lesson, yet?” Nappa called over his shoulder from the kitchen. “Ya want anything to drink, Vegeta?” 

Vegeta blinked. The palm of his hand stung, but he patted himself down and discovered that he remained undevoured. He must have dozed off and had a nightmare.

“Bad dream,” he muttered, turning to look Raditz up and down with disdain. “Go change your shirt.” 

As Raditz retreated to his room to change, muttering curses and obscenities about the Royal Family, Vegeta joined Nappa in the kitchen. “Please send that unmannered oaf on the next flight back to the Empire,” he muttered, still reeling from the horrific images he’d envisioned. 

“No can do, your highness,” Nappa said, sliding a glass of amber liquid over without another word. 

“Thought you’d say that,” Vegeta muttered, taking the glass and lifting it to inspect its contents. “I’m going to bed. Please have him keep the noise down.” 

“Do my best,” Nappa called after him as Vegeta retreated into his own space. He set the whiskey down on his night table next to his charging phone. As he undressed and readied himself for bed, his traitorous thoughts turned again and again to her blue hair, blue eyes, and wicked smile. If he knew what was best for himself, _he_ would have hopped the next plane out of here. Unfortunately, his well-laid plans had hardly begun being fulfilled. He would have to stick around a while yet. 

At least he had whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a little tumblr for updates and info about my stories, where I will be updating it to include the status of my stories (how many chapters written, what I'm currently working on, etc). You can find it here: [ao3musicofthespheres](http://ao3musicofthespheres.tumblr.com) and my main blog, [jadefyre](http://jadefyre.tumblr.com) too. Come say hi! (I'm currently doing a giveaway for my followers where you can win a pillowfort invitation, going on until December 10 2018!)


	7. Chateau Ginyu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies night!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you RockyKelboa for beta reading <3

“Chichi, you asshole, you owe me a night out.” 

_“What’d I do this time?”_

Bulma twirled her hair around her finger as she held her phone to her ear. “Gave me a shit recommendation for a dating agency.” 

_“You didn’t tell me you called them.”_

“Yeah, well I haven’t seen you, have I?” Bulma intoned, then put her hand over the microphone as she ordered her drink. Launch slid the card machine over to her with a knowing smile.

_You’ll have to tell me about it later,_ she mouthed, and Bulma winked at her. 

_“Guess not,”_ Chichi said after a pause. _“Chateau Ginyu has Ladies Night on tonight, and I think I could clear up my schedule.”_

“Mm, see you there at seven. Kiss-kiss.” 

_“Bitch better believe it,”_ Chichi replied and hung up. 

“You coming?” Bulma asked Launch as the barista got to work on her order. This was Bulma’s favorite time of day to visit: when the lunch rush was over and the cafe finally quieted down enough for conversation at a reasonable volume. 

“Coming where? I can’t hear your phone conversations from here,” Launch replied cheekily. 

Bulma stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Chateau Ginyu, of course.” 

“The strip club? Yeah, not on this wage,” she chuckled. 

“Chichi’s buying.” 

“Oh, well, if you insist.” She handed Bulma a plate as she finished steaming the milk for her mocha. “Just for a drink or two. I work early.” 

“You bet,” Bulma replied with a grin that plainly stated her intention to do anything but. 

\---

At seven o’clock on the dot, Chichi pulled up to the club in her sporty little BMW. As she flipped the door upward and climbed out, pulling her purse from the depths of the vehicle, she eyed Bulma with her head tilted. “You’re early.” 

“Launch is already inside, come on,” Bulma said, looping her arm through Chichi’s. 

As the two women made their way to their private booth right below the stage, Chichi grilled Bulma for details about the botched date, but Bulma wanted to wait till they could both hear. Giggling, they passed several handsome, tuxedoed waiters before reaching their seats. 

“Okay, we’re here, now _spill_ ,” Chichi said. 

“Round of drinks first. I don’t want to remember that wretched man sober,” Bulma replied, catching the eye of their section’s waiter with a flirtatious smile. It wasn’t long before their drinks arrived and Bulma downed half of hers, preparing to tell the ladies all about her disastrous evening. 

As she concluded her tale, the other women looked appropriately aghast. “I can’t believe he would turn _you_ down, of all people!” Launch nearly shouted, downing the last of her drink and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “He sounds like a fucking prude and definitely not your type.” 

Bulma caught Chichi’s knowing gaze and grinned evilly. “Not my type, sure, but he’s not going to leave this city unfucked. That’s my new goal, ladies: I am going to bed the crown prince of the Saiyan Empire, and nobody’s gonna fuckin’ stop me!” 

\--- 

Bulma stared at the ice at the bottom of her third glass. Had she finished it already? Didn’t matter. She placed it too-roughly down on the table and swung her head back toward the stage, where the star of the evening had finally made his appearance. Though he wasn’t the tallest of the troupe, the dancer known by his stage name of The Captain was definitely the most tantalizing as he undulated his hips at the crowd of half-sloshed women. He wore a purple silk ribbon which could barely be called an outfit as he worked his way through his routine, thrusting in time to the heavy bass that blared through the speakers on the stage. 

Bulma could feel the rhythm shaking her core, and she became entranced as he singled her out and strutted his way over to her. Crouching to show off a little extra skin just for her, he winked as she tucked a few zeni under the ribbon and turned to show off his toned ass for their table. 

“Woo!” Launch screamed, already halfway through her fourth drink, and threw a handful of bills at the stage. 

This was exactly what Bulma needed to take her mind off of things. Even though she could tell The Captain knew she was swimming in dough, it was still a huge ego boost to be singled out by a handsome, mostly-naked man. She could tell the desire in his eyes as he turned back toward her wasn’t all for show either, so she got out a pen and wrote her number down on a hundred-zenni bill and tucked it right into the ribbon covering his crotch before leaning back and placing her hands behind her head self-assuredly. 

The Captain grinned lasciviously down at her before licking his lips in acknowledgement and moving on to the next table of women, who all glared jealously at Bulma before becoming once again entranced by the performance. 

\--- 

True to Bulma’s prediction, Launch didn’t stop at two drinks. As she polished off her fourth (fifth?) drink of the evening, she slapped her hands on the table and attempted to fix Bulma in _a stare_ (which would have worked if her eyes weren’t having difficulty tracking). “Bulma,” she slurred, doing her best impression of a lascivious smile. “You’re still gonna try’n bang him, right? I mean, c’mon, he’ss a _prince_. There’ss _no_ way you’re not tapping that.” 

Bulma shrugged. If she spoke, she’d give away how completely sloshed she was. Even in Launch’s inebriated state, she would still drink Bulma under the table and gloat about it for an entire month afterward. 

Chichi, responsibly sipping on her third, smiled knowingly. “There’s never been a mountain Bulma couldn’t climb.” 

“‘Cept he’s more of a hill,” Bulma muttered, resulting in raucous laughter all around. 

As they left the club later that evening, Bulma insisted they let Manuel drive them to their respective homes. Chichi suggested instead that she crash on Bulma’s couch, and invited Launch to join them. “Never too old for a sleepover,” she reasoned when Launch protested. “But I work _early_ ,” she moaned. She’d been cut off after her fifth (or sixth?) when she’d tried climbing up on the stage to give the dancers a _lesson_. 

(Bulma was going to have to hold onto the phrase, “ma’am, please put your shirt back on. You’re welcome to apply for a dancing position but this is not the time to do it.”) 

Launch sighed as she looked out the window. “You’d better give me a ride to work tomorrow,” she groused, upset at the fact that the drinks were beginning to wear off. “You owe me.” 

“Oh, I do, do I? You sure you don’t want me to drop you off back at the Chateau tomorrow for your interview?” Bulma’s malicious grin spread across her face as Launch stuck out her tongue in retaliation. 

The next morning, hungover as shit, Bulma groaned when the sunlight filtered through her window. She checked the time on her phone, but the numbers blurred together and all her brain registered was that it was too fucking early. Her alarm wouldn’t go off for another… undetermined amount of time, but she was going to cram as much sleep and not-throwing-up as she could into every last ambiguous second. 

What felt like a split second later, her phone alarm went off. She’d have to work from her home office today. With a groan, she told her phone to call Karina and was about to instruct that her schedule be cleared when her assistant cut her off.

_“I don’t know what happened, but PR is working on it. Don’t answer any phone calls.”_

“What are you talking about?” 

_“I’m texting you a link. Hold on.”_

Karina sounded panicked. 

And as soon as Bulma opened the text message and registered what the linked article was saying, she understood exactly why. 

_Capsule CEO Bulma Briefs: Exposed_ , read the tabloid site. The byline continued: _Who is her mysterious lover? Will her debauched partying ruin her romance?_. Underneath, there were blurry photographs of her taking shots at Chateau Ginyu with Chichi and Launch. That was nothing new; the paparazzos already knew she had a proclivity for scantily clad men. It was the pair of photos under the first set of paragraphs that really grabbed her attention. 

The first was a zoomed-in shot of her exiting Red Ribbon. The second was a photograph of her and a dark figure whose hair she would recognize anywhere. 

The only people who knew about Red Ribbon were Karina, Chichi, and Launch. The latter two had nothing to gain by this, leaving Bulma with the heartwrenching realization that she had been fucking betrayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come join the Vegebulocracy Discord server!](https://discord.gg/3zhw294)
> 
> Have fun chatting with your fav artists and authors and fellow fans. Ask advice, vent about anything, and share your DBZ merch. We have it all!


	8. Guilty By Association

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's more than a little pissed at the headlines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [DianaeFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaeFox) for beta-reading!

Vegeta saw red. “Did. They see. My face.” 

He had Nappa up against the wall, his ceremonial blade held up to his bodyguard’s throat and lip curled in a feral snarl. 

“Not that I can tell, your highness,” Nappa replied as calmly as a man could under the circumstances. “I’m a member of your honor guard. I know what I’m doing--next time, you will listen to me when I demand reinforcements.” 

“Brave of you to be making demands with your life on the line,” Vegeta hissed, but he knew Nappa was right. His desire to keep Raditz as far away as possible was bound to backfire on him eventually. Pulling the knife away from Nappa’s jugular, he set it down on the kitchen counter and stomped into his room like a spoiled child. 

The article had been published first thing in the morning. Vegeta had nearly fallen out of bed at seeing the photo of himself, obscured as it was, and had stormed into Nappa’s room to shove his phone in the older man’s face. 

He’d gotten up, they had argued, Vegeta had grabbed a knife from the block on the counter… and Raditz had watched from the doorframe of _his_ room, amused and alarmed and bewildered at the same time. 

“We won’t let the king discover you, Prince Vegeta,” he’d said once things had calmed down. 

“You’d better not, or it’s _your_ heads first,” Vegeta growled, flinging a gesture at both of them. He spent the next half an hour combing the internet for more articles about the infernal woman. More tabloid sites popped up as the day wore on, but they all contained regurgitated information. Nobody had a new take--yet. It was just as well that Vegeta didn’t follow her home that night, as much as his body had urged him to. 

It would only have provided more opportunity to be outed by his father’s agents if he’d been discovered by West City’s local paparazzos. 

\---

Vegeta flipped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling through the darkness. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the what-ifs. 

What if their first date had gone better? 

What if he had given in to her in a moment of weakness?

What if Bulma had acknowledged his presence at the agency the day after? 

An unfamiliar sensation unsettled his stomach as he rolled back onto his side. His anxiety was through the roof; she wasn’t even here, so why was he letting her get into his head like this? 

If all those what-ifs had come to pass, Vegeta knew it would be all over. He felt too far gone as it was, and with every passing moment that the clock ticked through the night, he fought the urge to reach out to her. 

He didn’t even have her contact information, but he knew someone who did. 

Despite the fact that it was nearing 1:30 in the morning, Vegeta grabbed his phone from under his pillow and texted Eighteen.

\---

“Vegeta,” Nappa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Explain to me one more time _why the fuck_ you thought this was a good idea, despite all my warnings?” 

“It’s ‘cause he lets his dick rule his decisions,” Raditz called helpfully over his shoulder, throwing another handful of popcorn into his mouth and missing a few kernels in the process. 

Vegeta steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the counter as he studiously avoided Nappa’s stern gaze. “There’s something about her,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t explain it, and I don’t expect you to understand.” 

“Yeah, she’s bad news, your highness. You said it yourself. You’ve _seen_ it yourself. And _you’re_ seeking _her_ out? You’re a grown-ass man, not some lovesick teenage Romeo. Get a grip.” 

“She’s smart--she knows how to manipulate people. And people like her don’t get to where they are without stepping on a few toes and stabbing a few backs.” 

Nappa placed his other hand over his face and let out an exaggerated groan. “Yours is going to be the one with the knife in it if you let her get too close. You know I can’t force you to do anything, but I want my disagreement noted so I am absolved of guilt when this turns out poorly.” 

Vegeta stood abruptly, the stool scraping across the floor with a horrendous _screeee_. “I’m going to call Eighteen. I haven’t heard back from her yet.” 

“The plan has waited this long, your highness. It can wait a little longer. Have patience.” Despite his admonition, Nappa himself was having a hard time following his own advice. He looked about ready to snap--Vegeta wouldn’t be surprised if the bodyguard took it upon himself to carry out the plan on his own, Vegeta’s vital involvement be damned. 

“What’s to stop her from blabbing everything you tell her to the press?” Raditz asked.

Vegeta opened his mouth to answer, but Nappa cut him off. 

“You’re not threatening her. You’re going to have to play her game, give her something she wants.” 

“She already has everything,” Vegeta replied. 

Raditz spun around to face him, crossing his arms over the back of the couch. “Except your dick, maybe.” 

Vegeta had to stop himself from physically recoiling. “I’m _not_ whoring myself out for this.” 

“If she can do it, so can you.” Raditz popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth. 

Vegeta knew for a fact that Bulma was born privileged into old money. Even her father’s father had been born into millions, but it was Dr. Briefs’ inventions and the subsequent incorporation of Capsule Corp that had quadrupled the family fortune. The heiress hadn’t needed to provide any _favors_ to get where she was today.

Maybe that’s why Vegeta admired her. She was a force of nature in her own right, and she would be a powerful ally in the coming weeks as they put their plan into action. So when Vegeta’s phone rang and he answered it without checking call display, he was willing to offer Eighteen anything just to be able to speak with Bulma again. 

\---

Bulma had granted Eighteen permission to pass along her phone number. The moment he hung up with the matchmaker, he dialled it and shuffled into his room as he waited for the heiress to answer.

_“Capsule Corp, how may I direct your call?”_ a male voice with a latino accent said on the other end when the line finally picked up. 

Vegeta could hear a female voice in the background yell, _“Give me that!”_ followed by shrill laughter. There was a brief tussle on the other end of the line before something scraped across the mouthpiece and Bulma answered breathlessly, _“Hello?”_

“It’s me,” Vegeta said, knowing he needed no introduction. 

_“Who?”_ she asked, before muffling the receiver, giggling, and telling her companion to stay away. 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Your date,” he growled impatiently. “Eighteen passed along your number.” 

_“Oh,_ you _. Didn’t think you’d actually call. Who wants to talk to the tabs’ flavor of the week, right?”_ She chuckled, sounding to Vegeta like she felt very blasé about the whole matter. She also sounded like she was under the influence of something despite the early hour. 

“There’s a pressing matter we need to discuss. In private,” Vegeta continued, deciding to ignore that fact for now. “Clear your schedule for the afternoon. I will be coming to Capsule Corp for a meeting as it seems my nation has business interests with your company.” 

_“Well you can go there if you want, but I’m not gonna be in,”_ she giggled. _“In case you haven’t heard, everybody and their mother wants to talk to me right now, so I’m kinda laying low. What ‘business’ could you people have with me anyway?”_

“That is not something I’m prepared to discuss over the phone.” Vegeta sighed in frustration. “If I can’t see you at Capsule, where can we meet?” 

_“Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back on that,”_ Bulma said, voice not betraying the slightest curiosity at what he could possibly want. 

Then the line went dead, and Vegeta stared at her contact card on his phone, debating whether or not he should phone again. 

Seconds later, he received a text from an unknown number: 

> _Senzu cafe, 10pm. -B_

Oh, Nappa was going to _love_ this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute since I updated, and that's because I've been working on the [Vegebulocracy Big Bang 2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/vegebulocracybigbang2018) challenge! Go check out all the awesome fics, including my Vegebul Star Trek AU, Emissary!


	9. A Nice Ring to It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta proposes a lucrative offer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [DianaeFox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dianaefox) and [rockykelboa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa) for the beta! A bit of a shorter chapter, but exciting things are coming down the pipes.

“I’d so get fired for this if it wasn’t _you_ ,” Launch said with a sigh. She turned the lock on the door and returned to her spot across from Bulma in the empty cafe. 

“Yeah, but even if you did, I’d just buy the cafe and hire you to run it for me. Hey, that might be a good idea, actually,” Bulma said, tapping her chin with her finger. 

“Oh, no, no no no,” Launch said, waving her hands to ward her off. “I do _not_ need the stress of running this shithole, thank you very much.” 

“Hey, it’s my favorite place to get a coffee. Watch what you say about it, huh?” 

“You don’t have to deal with the kind of customers we get on a daily basis. I mean, we have this one lady who thinks she can just walk in and demand we stay late so she can use the cafe as her personal meeting space.” 

Bulma winked at her friend. “Yeah, but she loves you for it,” she teased. “And she really does appreciate the favor.” 

Launch crossed her arms, a blush rising up her cheeks at the affection. “Yeah, well she also _owes_ me a favor. Anyway, I’m going to be in the back room catching up on some work the boss wanted me to do. Holler when you’re going to leave so I can come lock the door after ya. And keep things sanitary, okay?” 

“No promises,” Bulma said with a wry grin. 

“Yeah, that’s my cue to leave,” Launch said, pretending to gag as she made her way into the back room. 

Bulma checked the time on her phone: 9:53. The cafe had closed at 9:30, and Launch had graciously allowed her to hang around while she did closing duties. 

Moments later, somebody tapped on the glass and Bulma nearly fell out of her chair. Squinting into the darkness, she approached the window to see none other than Prince Grumpypants himself. 

“Where’s your bodyguard?” she asked as she let him in, peeking out into the rainy evening but seeing no one else. 

“He’ll be waiting outside. Is there anyone else here?” Vegeta frowned as he surveyed the room, running his fingers along the backs of chairs as he made his way to the two-seat table in the farthest corner away from the door and set his briefcase down beside his chosen spot. 

“Just my friend who’s letting us use the space. She’s in the office.” 

Vegeta shook his head, his frown deepening. “She has to leave. She can wait outside in the car until we’re done.” 

“No, no, you don’t get to dictate the rules for this.” Bulma could see the asshole hadn’t learned from their last encounter that she wasn’t going to be pushed around. 

The prince rolled his eyes. “Fine. I would like to _formally request_ that any other individuals present please vacate the premises until this meeting is adjourned. May I expect an immediate response to my enquiry, or must I wait 3-5 business days?” Every word dripped with sarcasm, but Bulma grinned wolfishly at the parlance. 

“Why don’t we ask her nicely?” she suggested, swaying her hips and giving him an eyeful as she went to knock on the door in the back. 

Fortunately for her guest, Launch agreed--albeit begrudgingly--to wait in the prince’s car outside. 

“Don’t mind Raditz,” Vegeta called after her, then waited for Bulma to slide the lock shut and return to the table. “Ms. Briefs,” he said as she sat down. 

“Yes, Prince Vegeta?” 

He reached down and pulled some papers from his briefcase, laying on the table expectantly before her. “What I’m about to tell you is a matter of national security for the Saiyan Empire. I need you to sign these documents to ensure your silence.” 

Bulma slid the papers toward herself and gave them a cursory glance. “We’re _really_ starting this with an NDA? No, ‘hello Bulma, how are you holding up after I endangered your reputation?’”

Vegeta stared at her, eyes darker than usual in the dimly lit cafe. “Yes, I require confidentiality. That’s how you people conduct matters here, is it not?” He chose not to address the jab intended to rile him up, causing Bulma to scoff. 

“If we’re protecting trade secrets, then yes,” she said, pulling the top sheet off the small pile and reading it in detail. Vegeta waited in silence as her eyes scanned down the paragraphs, looking for clues to the nature of this big secret of his. It all looked like pretty standard stuff, but Bulma was used to being the one issuing the agreements, not being beholden to them. Reading through the rest of the agreement and seeing nothing that could be too detrimental to her freedom, she pulled a pen from her handbag and scribbled her signature on each highlighted line. “There, now are you going to tell me what all the secrecy is about?” 

Vegeta clasped his hands and leaned forward, pinning her with his intense gaze. “My father absolutely despises women like you.” 

Briefly torn between a biting comeback and seeing where he was going with this, Bulma settled for a pointed eyebrow raise and kept her mouth shut. 

“And I despise my father. I need you to marry me so I can overthrow my father and be crowned the new Emperor of Vegeta-sei.” 

\---

Bulma’s office chair released a long groan as she leaned back, swivelling to and fro while watching the city bustle with life far beneath. She’d cleared her schedule of unimportant minutiae for the next week or so until she could find a new assistant. It had been such a shame to fire that back-stabbing, conniving bitch--she’d been good at her job, save for the blindside. 

Karina had been in tears the day the “news” broke, when the echo of Bulma’s Louboutins could be heard moving closer and closer through the halls of Capsule Corp. She could only sob as Bulma, calmly as you please, had asked why she’d done it. 

The snivelling had quieted down to the occasional unseemly sniffle as two security guards escorted the disgraced assistant down the elevator and unceremoniously out the front door with her personal effects. 

Bulma had gone into her office, closed the door, and let out a loud “Fuuuck!” 

She pulled at her hair, stomped so hard she nearly broke a heel, and nearly threw her prize-winning orchids at the window. Instead, she settled on a glass of whiskey and a promise to get absolutely shitfaced later with whomever was available. 

The only thing Bulma couldn’t figure out is why Karina had done it. She had everything she wanted, and if there were something lacking she only had to ask and Bulma would have snapped her wish-granting fingers. Karina had nothing to gain and everything to lose by going to the media. Was it Bulma’s flirting with Ricardo, the barista? The heiress shook her head. People had done stupider things for love. 

And now, on the heels of _that_ disaster, she had a marriage proposal by the one man in the entire world she could say she truly despised, despite having interacted with him for a total of three hours tops. 

She had to admit, though: the offer was tempting. 

Fame, prestige, _power_? Any woman worth her femininity dreamed of marrying royalty to gain all these things. But Bulma had been born into it; she might as well have been royalty herself if this country were a monarchy. What more could the prince of an unstable empire offer her? He couldn’t even become emperor without a wife--an archaic rule if she ever heard one, and she had no interest in participating in a society that didn’t seem the least bit progressive. Overthrowing an emperor, on the other hand, sounded like exactly the sort of thing she’d been born to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reviews _fuel_ me. I'm still working on getting back to everyone who's flooded my inbox with beautiful comments on my [Vegebul Big Bang entry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012724/chapters/39995619), but in the meantime I thought I'd post another chapter of MM before the new year. I hope you enjoy, and I always love hearing theories and reactions!


	10. Don't Get Cocky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma uses her negotiating prowess to corner a certain hotheaded prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [DianaeFox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaeFox) and [rockykelboa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa) for beta-reading!

“And she said yes, just like that?” Nappa asked, dropping his toast back onto his plate. 

“Just like that,” Vegeta nodded. “Except she insisted upon a public relationship and engagement.” 

“That’s gonna be a problem,” Raditz said. “Y’know, with the whole ‘get married in secret so daddy dearest won’t ever see it coming’ thing.” 

Vegeta heaved a sigh. “You think I don’t know that, dunderhead? We might have to reevaluate the plan.”

“I don’t see any other way this would work,” Nappa said, shaking his head. “Except if you married her under the supposed pretense of…” he waved his toast in the air, trying to come up with an idea. “Something. I don’t know, I’m not the ideas guy.” 

Raditz sat the wrong way on the kitchen chair, straddling it with his arms crossed over the backrest. “She’s just gonna have to compromise. Secret relationship, public wedding. Return to the Empire the day after the wedding and bam! Take over the throne.” 

Vegeta barely spared the oversized Saiyan a glance, even though he seethed inwardly at the stupidity of the suggestion. “Maybe spending time with Tarble has lowered your IQ, but that’s not how these things work,” he growled. 

“I think he raised it, actually,” Raditz said with a shrug. 

Vegeta waved both of them away and steepled his fingers in thought. “I’ll come up with something. Just give me time.” 

\---

Bulma crossed her arms across the table from him. “No,” she stated. “If my terms aren’t met, then I refuse. It’s that simple. You need me more than I need you.” 

“Ms. Briefs, I have been _very_ generous with the terms,” Vegeta said through gritted teeth. “Are not celebrity elopements the norm here?” 

With a sarcastic eye roll followed by a patronizing smile, Bulma uncrossed her legs to lean forward. “I’m not sacrificing my dream wedding for some half-baked plan when I have both the means and the ability to have things the way I want them.” 

“It is not a ‘half-baked plan’,” Vegeta muttered. “It has been thought out down to every last detail. I only require the missing puzzle piece-” 

Bulma scoffed. “Save it, Prince Vegeta. You’ve obviously never met a woman who’s used to getting what she wants, and I refuse to budge.” 

Vegeta could feel the control over his rage beginning to slip as she intentionally pushed all his buttons. Flexing his fists to work off the building energy, he fixed her in his dark stare. “Is there anything _else_ I can offer you instead?” 

After a moment’s contemplation, Bulma’s eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. “You seem desperate, your highness.” 

_Swallow your pride, Vegeta._ The prince took a deep, calming breath through his nostrils as his fists clenched so hard, his knuckles cracked. His lip twitched with anger as he replied: “Not desperate, just running low on time.” 

“Sounds desperate to me.” The woman pulled out a nail file and ignored him to work at her already-perfect manicure, leaning back in her chair with feet planted firmly on the ground.

The infernal wench knew exactly what she was doing. Vegeta’s stare-down wasn’t working at all on her, and it threw him off. If she was immune to his intimidation while playing up her own apathy, how was he supposed to sway her? He’d gotten her this far by appealing to her curiosity, but he needed to know she would follow _his_ lead on this, not flit about and do her own thing and cause the whole plan to crumble around them. He hated that he had to rely so much on someone else, but it was the only way. “Normally there are very stringent rules royals must follow, but the emperor has the final say on all infractions if he so chooses to step in. Even the empress is not free from discipline if the emperor so wills it. You will be free to do as you like.” 

“I already am,” Bulma pointed out. 

“If I bow to your terms and my father finds out about this quote-unquote ‘relationship’, he will have both my head and yours.” 

“Not mine,” she replied with a snarky smile. “Just yours. He’ll never get extradition for a non-citizen of the Empire.” 

Vegeta nearly snorted at her glaring ignorance. She clearly had no idea how much was at stake, how _ruthless_ the emperor could be. “I never said anything about extradition, Ms. Briefs.” 

Bulma stared back at him for a long moment before throwing her head back with unseemly laughter. She wiped a mock-tear from her eye as she recovered and smacked her hand down on the table, watching him incredulously. “Oh, you were _serious_. So what you’re telling me is, you’re dragging me into a plan that could get me killed if it goes wrong, and I don’t receive anything in return? You’re a terrible salesman, your highness.” 

“I would hardly call influence over an entire nation nothing. If we succeed, you will go down in world history as the woman behind the greatest overthrow my empire has ever seen.” 

Bulma’s snide smile remained, but she cast her eyes down to her plate, where she carefully cut off a bite of steak and popped it in her mouth before locking those ocean-blue eyes onto his cavernous black stare. “You don’t understand, your highness. I’m never _behind_ anything.” 

\---

Nappa leaned against the other side of the door, focused on the conversation in his earpiece. The prince sure knew how to pick ‘em, that was for sure. This woman was as stubborn as he was, and had twice the power of manipulation. He nodded to Raditz as he passed by on his second perimeter walk. 

Once the two would-be lovebirds had finalized whatever details needed working out, they could stop this ridiculous rendezvous and meet somewhere sensible, like at Capsule Corp or back at the hotel, not this security guard’s nightmare of a vulnerability. 

Come to think of it, every move the prince made was a security guard’s nightmare: from leaving himself openly exposed in public places in a strange city to divulging what amounted to state secrets to a foreigner. The woman said something clever and Nappa smirked, wondering how the prideful prince was going to handle that one. Then his earpiece crackled, and Raditz’s voice came through, low and quiet.

_“I think I’ve got a second shadow,”_ he whispered. _“We should probably get them out of here.”_

“Let him finish his negotiations, or he’s going to hang you by your ballsack,” Nappa advised. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Just try not to shoot anyone, yeah?” 

_“No promises,”_ Raditz’s staticky voice chuckled darkly. _“I’ll update you in two.”_

Nappa had been in the game long enough to know that newbies were always jumpy. Sure, Raditz had been in the empire’s employ for years, but he’d never been in the field like this. His previous charge, the king’s second son, Tarble, mostly stayed close within the palace and attended to his studies or his private garden. The only reason he was on this trip was because Vegeta had managed to secret him away from the palace with Tarble’s help. The young prince idolized his brother and would do anything to help him, so it was no trouble to convince him to part with his favorite bodyguard. 

Nappa flinched as the crackle of static invaded his earpiece again. 

_“Suspicious car’s been circling the block. I’ve got my eye on it, but I’ll be heading back your way soon.”_

“Copy that,” Nappa muttered. Turning to peer into the dark cafe, he knocked on the windowpane to get the prince’s attention. 

\---

Vegeta glanced up sharply at the interruption. His time was running short; either the woman had to agree, or he had to compromise. Maybe he could appeal to her humanitarian side--his research had shown that Dr. Briefs had an altruistic streak, and maybe that trait had been passed on to his daughter. 

Bulma slammed her hands down on the table. “I’ll do it, but you need to include me in the plans. I’m not going to be your ticket for entry and then get left by the wayside once you’ve gotten what you wanted, alright?” 

“Alright,” Vegeta agreed before he really had the chance to think.

With a self-assured smirk, Bulma leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head. “Great. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a pre-nup-- _don’t_ balk, it’s necessary--and prepare the marriage licence. We’ll get the legalities out of the way first.” 

“I thought you wanted pomp and ceremony for your little fairy tale,” Vegeta quipped. 

“Oh, I do,” she replied. “But that can come _after_ we depose the king.”

“Emperor.”

“ _Emperor,_ whatever he is. I don’t want wedding stress _and_ political intrigue to compound each other, capisce?” 

Vegeta fought the urge to roll his eyes. She may be his key to the throne, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy tolerating her. “You westerners are strange creatures,” he muttered. 

“And you’re going to need someone to witness your signature,” Bulma continued, ignoring him. “Someone who’s from the country, so I’m afraid your meatheads aren’t going to do.” 

Nappa tapped on the glass again to remind Vegeta of the need to _hurry the fuck up_. 

“Fine, fine. I know somebody I can call. I’ll be in touch,” he said, standing abruptly and gathering everything back into his briefcase. “And remember, Ms. Briefs: _you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone._ ” 

Bulma smiled. “I didn’t get to where I am by spouting secrets like a leaky sieve, your highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments are so appreciated!!
> 
> This'll probably be the last update of the year unless I get Chapter 11 written and beta'd before midnight tomorrow :P If not, I'll see you all in January! <3


	11. Unsavory Business Practices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DianaeFox and rockykelboa for looking this over. You're both mega-babes and I appreciate you so much <3

“You can’t tell me? Why not?” Chichi asked in a huff, eyebrows scrunching together as she scrutinized her friend across the table. 

“He had me sign an NDA,” Bulma responded, sipping her Baileys-and-coffee. “Don’t worry, once everything is sorted out, the terms of the contract will be fulfilled, and I’ll be able to tell you everything you want to know.” 

Chichi took a pointed bite of her croissant. “I can’t wait to hear what crazy lunatic makes you sign a non-disclosure just to be allowed the _privilege_ of dating him. In fact, I’d give my right arm to see that contract. I wish you’d had me present to read it over.” 

“Then _you_ would have had to sign one too,” Bulma pointed out. “And besides, I know enough legalese to recognize when I’m getting played. It was all very straightforward, and plenty of it works in my favor.” 

“Just make sure you call me next time, alright?” Chichi said, scowl melting away into soft concern. “I care about you, and it’s… a sensitive time right now. I don't want you getting more hurt.” 

“I already fired the bitch who exposed me,” Bulma said, taking another sip. “You can’t trust anyone these days,” she muttered into the mug as an afterthought. 

“No,” Chichi agreed with a sad smile. “But at least you’ve got this attorney on your side. And your PR office has been doing some excellent damage control.” 

Bulma set the mug down on her desk. “I don’t like being vulnerable. But let’s talk about _you_ , my dear. Have you spoken to that hot lawyer again? The one from the deposition?”

Chichi’s cheeks flamed red, and she shoved another bite of pastry into her mouth to avoid answering. 

With a knowing smirk, Bulma leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together. “Oh, you’re going to have to tell me _all_ about him. Maybe we could go on a double date.” 

Chichi swallowed and took a long drink of coffee. “I can’t _date_ him, Bulma! He’s the competition! We’ve been over this, and besides, our bosses would have our necks if they found out.” 

“You’ll have to find a way to introduce me to him anyway,” Bulma said. “I’m not giving you the option.” 

“Contrary to what you may think, Ms. Briefs, you do _not_ own the world.” 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Bulma said with a wolfish grin. 

Chichi rolled her eyes and smiled. “We did a filmed deposition earlier today. He could barely keep his eyes off me.” 

“Ha!” Bulma cried out triumphantly. “I knew it!” 

\---

“Roshi, hi, I’m glad I was able to get you,” Bulma said with the phone receiver tucked between her head and her shoulder--and in reality anything _but_ glad to talk to the old lecher.

 _“I always have time for a pretty little thing like you,”_ he chuckled into the phone. 

Bulma rolled her eyes, wondering why he couldn’t retire or die already. “Good, I have a huge favor to ask that requires the utmost discretion. Can I stop by your office later?” 

_“Regretfully, I’ll be in court all day, but I know one of my new senior partners is in his office working on a case. You met him, I brought him to Capsule the other day when you wore that sweet little number-”_

“Yes, great, perfect,” Bulma interrupted before he could go any further, shuddering at the thought of how he remembered every outfit she’d worn to their meetings. “Whatever will get me in today. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

Manuel awaited with her chariot, faithful as ever, as Bulma strode through the front doors. “To Kame, please,” she instructed tersely, absently wondering why she was still holding on retainer a firm run by a pervert. She supposed it was because of her father’s relationship with the company, back when he was CEO and more than happy to stay in the lab while outsourcing the management of Capsule’s assets.

While she was a brilliant inventor herself, Bulma had taken a more balanced approach to running the company. She couldn’t afford to be the scatter-brained, nutty professor type like her father. She had mountains to climb and so much more to prove on account of her gender alone, but she had to thank the old boys’ club. Their disdain provided fuel for the fire of her success. Sure, she’d been born into the right circumstances, but so had they. Nobody was complaining that _they’d_ had everything handed to them on a silver platter. 

As Manuel pulled up to the front doors of the building housing Kame & Associates, Bulma reached forward and handed him a wad of bills. “Go buy yourself something nice. I’m going to be around an hour.” 

Manuel took the bill with a knowing smirk on his face. “Something to share, I presume?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I think I could use it after dealing with these bloodsuckers.” 

“I’ll get us a little of the good stuff then,” he replied, hopping out to open the door for her. 

\---

The associate Bulma met with was the taller one with the spiky, black hair. She’d already forgotten his name, but was spared the embarrassment of stating that fact when he stuck out his hand amiably. “Goku Son. A pleasure to meet you again, Ms. Briefs.” 

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Son,” Bulma replied. He was an attractive man, and she couldn’t help but give him a quick, appreciative once-over as he turned to offer her a seat. 

“My pleasure. And please, call me Goku. Mr. Kame told me you had an urgent, private matter. I’m happy to be of assistance.” 

“Great, because I’m getting married. I need you to draw up a prenuptial agreement to present to my fiance.” 

“Oh, congratulations,” Goku said, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. His hair was more slicked-back than usual today and he looked uncomfortable as he settled in at his desk, making to run his fingers through his hair on more than one occasion and then thinking better of it. “I hadn’t heard the news.” 

“No one else has, either,” Bulma said with a tight smile, hoping he’d infer her secrecy. 

“I see. And what are the terms?” he asked, getting straight to the point, gazing at her warmly through dark, chocolate eyes, a permanent smile tugging up the corners of his lips. 

Bulma pulled her notes from her bag and slid them across the desk. “I’ve written my notes here, and my fiance’s are here,” she said, pulling out another set with the prince’s angular, aggressive penmanship scrawled on the page. “If you can read them.” 

Goku shuffled the papers together and sifted through them, eyes scanning briefly down each page. “Yep, that won’t be a problem. Do you need this today?” 

“Yes. And don’t worry, I’m more than happy to pay a rush fee.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Briefs. If you’d like, I can get you a cup of coffee, if you’d like to wait in my office.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Bulma replied, glancing up at the digital clock on the wall. “That sounds great.” 

It wasn’t long before Goku returned with a mug for each of them. He got to work right away, typing furiously on his laptop in between brief pauses to sip his beverage. 

Bulma sifted through her email inbox for twenty minutes before glancing up at him again. “Your hair looks good like that,” she said. “You got a date or something?” 

Goku stopped typing for a moment and read back what he’d just written before looking up at her, cheeks tinting pink. “What makes you say that?” 

“You don’t seem the type to get all formal for work.” 

Goku resumed typing. “Maybe I have a court appearance later.” 

“Roshi said you’d be in the office all day,” Bulma retorted. Goku’s blush deepened. “Gotcha.” 

“I don’t have a date. I just came from a filmed deposition.” 

Bulma regarded him quietly as he peeled off page after page of her notes. Suddenly, something clicked in her mind. Hadn’t Chichi had a filmed deposition earlier that day as well? 

Once Goku had finished the prenup, he turned the computer screen toward Bulma for review. “Everything good?” he asked as she finished reading and leaned back. 

“Yeah, looks like it’s all there,” she said. “You type _really_ fast.” 

“It’s my specialty,” Goku replied, seemingly happy that she’d changed the subject. But he wasn’t about to be so lucky. 

“So how was Chichi?” 

All the color drained from his face. His gaze slid from the screen slowly over to meet her eyes, mouth agape as he tried to figure out how she knew. “Uh,” he stammered, “she’s… good. I’m sorry, how…?” 

“Better than good, I’d say,” Bulma replied casually. “Considering that she’s head over heels for you.” 

“I’m sorry, how do you know Ms. King?” Goku attempted to regain his composure with little success. 

“Why, we’re best friends of course!” Bulma pretended to clutch her chest in offense. “I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned me.” 

Goku’s face resembled a tomato by then, and he stuttered out his next words: “M-Ms. King and I are only professionally acquainted, Ms. Briefs. We… we haven’t had any personal conversation.” 

“ _Yet._ You should invite her out for coffee. I know a great place-” 

“If you don’t mind, and please don’t take offense, I would like to finish the last details of your prenuptial agreement,” Goku interrupted, eyes pleading with her to talk about something else. _Anything_ else. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and Bulma knew she had him cornered. Chichi was probably going to kill her, but without a little interference, the straightlaced lawyer wasn’t going to make a move. 

Professionalism be damned. 

Bulma left the offices not ten minutes later, leaving the contract in Goku’s hands for safekeeping until she could have Prince Vegeta agree to meet and have the document notarized. 

Leaving the office earlier than expected, Bulma decided to walk around the block to kill time. There was no need to spend another second in that sleazy office, even if Goku had been the least-creepy lawyer she’d dealt with from there. The longer she stayed, the higher the likelihood that one of Roshi’s other senior partners would catch wind of her presence and pucker up for some ass-kissing. She wondered what a nice guy like Goku was even doing there, and how he’d survived in the pit so long and still come out good-natured and cheerful as a senior partner. 

Well, at least Chichi would be thrilled at not having to make an introduction. She would, however, be absolutely _pissed_ if Goku told her what Bulma had said. But Bulma knew the conversation would remain confidential and that she had nothing to worry about. 

As she rounded the block, she caught sight of the familiar vehicle parked along the side of the road. It looked like Manuel had returned early and had camped out nearby until her hour was up--but upon further inspection, she noted that the car was unoccupied, its driver nowhere to be found. Bulma didn’t know where Manuel got his stuff, but assumed it was nearby. How convenient for him, then, that her trips to Kame & Associates would become a little more frequent over the next little while.

As she rounded the corner and passed an alleyway, Bulma heard a familiar voice echoing against the stone buildings on either side. 

_“You can’t reveal my identity, man,”_ the voice with its Spanish accent whispered. _“Or my livelihood’s gonna be toast. I’ll tell you what you want to know but I_ need _to remain anonymous, ¿comprende?”_

Bulma stopped short, almost causing another pedestrian to collide with her before she tucked herself up against the building to get a better angle for eavesdropping. 

Well, holy fuck.

She’d fired the wrong person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dunnnnnnnnnnnnn

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on [my tumblr](http://jadefyre.tumblr.com)!


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